


Nights at Volskaya

by Predaking



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Silly, hanzo "no fun allowed" shimada, mccree trying to be romantic and being bad at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predaking/pseuds/Predaking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you ever lighten up?”</p><p>It wasn’t even a full minute before Hanzo responded with the most definite “No.” he’d ever heard in his life.</p><p>(generic drabble)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights at Volskaya

**Author's Note:**

> CHRIST almighty I'm back with new gays that I might actually commit to writing to if I feel it. This is a very generic drabble but I might commit to something longer or with more sustenance in the future. We'll see. I haven't kept that promise yet so lmao.

Cold, calculating, tense. Those were words that could describe this moment, that is if anyone else was describing it as an outsider. From a first person perspective, the words he would use would be more along the lines of: tired, sore, bored.

How long had Hanzo been perched here? He’d lost track. He hadn’t been keeping watch, there was no purpose in it. You can’t exactly stop to check the time when camping, you might get caught off guard and lose a hit or be hit. So he sat there, arm muscles aching from holding his bow in the same position for so long, his legs were prosthetic but even then he could feel what was still left of them start to cramp from the awkward squatting position. By now you would think he’d be used to it, and in a way he was, but even someone who did this all day everyday would hurt from it after a while. 

Volskaya, that’s what this place was called. It was cold here, cold and wet and snowing. The only time Hanzo had broken vigil was to brush snow off his head and shoulders. Probably not the best move, logic would dictate the snow covering him would help camouflage. And while that was true and he knew that, he wasn’t too fond of feeling his greying hair and clothes slowly getting drenched. 

But camouflage didn’t matter too much, he had found himself a nice spot on a high up windowsill of the abandoned library building they had chosen as base. He was practically invisible unless someone knew he was there. If you asked his opinion it wasn’t a very good base, no security to speak of, easily broken into, the large windows didn’t make him feel very secure. But it served its purpose for the time being. And it wasn’t like it was permanent residence anyway, so he couldn’t raise any complaints about it without being labeled fussy. 

What he could raise complaints about: the fact nothing was happening. Reportedly someone or something was supposed to be here. And so far, nothing. At one point he got twitchy and shot down a passing rabbit that had startled him, but other than that nothing but the sound of wind and the sight of fresh snow. 

A couple of times other teammates had shouted up at him to come down and relax for a bit. Relax. That word wasn’t in his vocabulary. He ignored them, continued his vigil, eyes unblinking, muscles unmoving. 

Through the complete silence he could hear them talking down there, particularly Reinhardt’s booming voice rising above the others. He joked about Hanzo being their personal gargoyle, to which Tracer responded if he stayed out there long enough he’d probably freeze solid into one. 

Hanzo snorted and rolled his eyes at the discussion, see how much they’re laughing when they get raided and were scrambling to get on attack while he was out there as their first line of defense. Then they’d apologize and maybe not let their guard down so easily. That’d show them. 

He had let the chatter fade into a buzz in the background of his surroundings while he was focused, but another sound, a different sound, had gotten his attention again. Hurriedly he pulled the string back on his bow, searching for where the noise might’ve been coming from.   
“Whatcha doin?” came from behind him, and Hanzo almost lost his balance and fell to the ground from the startled jump. 

His arrow went flying, ricocheting off the statue of a woman with a flag in front of him to lodge into the wall of the library slightly above him. 

“Nice shot, Robin Hood.” Southern drawl, metal hand patting his shoulder- that nickname. McCree. 

“What are you doing up here?” Hanzo snapped, breaking his focus to face him.

The cowboy was wearing a stupid grin, as always, his poncho was wrapped over his shoulders differently than usual, it covered most his body instead of draping only over his left side. Probably to block from the cold, though Hanzo worried about how much it restricted arm movement. McCree had climbed up one of the tall stepladders in the library, meant for getting things off high shelves, and had a blanket tucked under one of his arms.

“Lena’s frozen solid comment got me thinkin’ you needed some company.” He pulled himself up onto the window ledge next to him, there was plenty room for the both of them, it was a large window, but Hanzo didn’t appreciate the distraction when he was on watch duty. 

McCree sat with his legs swinging off the edge, lifting the blanket he was carrying to show Hanzo. “You look cold, brought you a blanket.” He didn’t even ask if he wanted it before going to drape it over Hanzo’s shoulders.

Hanzo wanted to bat him away, the only thing stopping him was fear of losing balance and falling. 

“You wanna sit, yanno, normally? Those chicken leg prosthetics aren’t meant to take that much constant pressure.” McCree stated, getting comfortable himself.

Before, that comment would’ve gotten under his skin. Before, he would’ve launched into a rant how they weren’t “chicken leg”, they were lightweight and flexible. They were more suitable for his work. But that was before, now he knew no matter what he said McCree would comment on the scrawny appearance just to tease him. 

Right now he was more focused on the issue at hand. 

“Jesse, being comfortable is the last thing on my mind right now, I’m on watch.” He said, a cool venom in his voice.

McCree was unphased by it by now, everything Hanzo said was stinging in some way. It was his thing, really. 

“Watch for what? A change in wind direction?” He smirked. 

Hanzo almost physically bristled at that comment, “You damn well know what I’m watching for.” 

He put both his hands up in a defensive gesture, “Calm down, I’m joking with you. Do you ever lighten up?”

It wasn’t even a full minute before Hanzo responded with the most definite “No.” he’d ever heard in his life.

McCree laughed a little, “Well that didn’t require any thinking.” 

Hanzo rolled his eyes, turning away and notching a new arrow before getting back into the same squatting position he was before. It was a little more awkward now with a blanket draped over his back, he would never admit that it was more tolerable sitting there with some sort of warmth. 

McCree watched him for a minute, studying his posture, as if he was a painter trying to recreate it, then turned to follow his gaze. As expected there was nothing of interest to be seen except for empty buildings. 

“You don’t have to be on guard all the time, you know.” He said finally. Hanzo didn’t budge. “You’re not on your own anymore, you’re among friends. Friends that have your back.” 

Hanzo still didn’t change pose, but his eyes moved to focus on McCree and his lips formed a tight line. 

“Friends that don’t know what they’re doing.” he said after a stretch of silence. “You’re the shining example right now, you know. If they let their guards down, anyone could break in, we wouldn’t be prepared, we’d get struck down. So if none of you will do it, someone has to.” 

His eyes went back to focus on the end of his arrow, he didn’t expect any more words out of the cowboy, in his mind his point was perfectly clear.

Another stretch of silence, and had Hanzo not known any better he would’ve thought the other left. But he did know better, and he knew McCree was persistent. Hanzo waited for the other to say something back, something that completely ignored what he had said and led back to a point he made before, which would end with Hanzo repeating himself, and would start the cycle anew until he got frustrated and gave in. Not today though, he wasn’t going to let him win today.

But he waited, it never came. He was starting to think he actually did leave until McCree busted up laughing. For the first time that night Hanzo actually did let his guard down, to turn around and give his most “if looks could kill” glare. 

“Y-you’re laughing at me.” The voice didn’t match the look, he sounded confused and almost hurt. Almost.

“You really do never lighten up. Do you have an arrow stuck up your ass?” McCree snuffed out his cigar in the snow, reaching out to wrap an arm around Hanzo, drawing him closer to his side. There was a grunt of protest that went completely ignored. 

“Listen, you’re right in a way.” the sudden change of tone was jarring, it wasn’t often McCree was serious about anything. “We do have to keep on our toes, a lot of people want us dead. No one likes being paranoid though. Like I said, you need to lighten up. It’s not good for you.” 

He pulled at Hanzo’s cheek, squinting at his face for a second. “Speaking of which, you look exhausted.” 

“This is my natural appearance. I was born with bags under my eyes.” It was hard to tell when Hanzo was joking, sarcastic was another default trait.

“I’ll believe it.” He pushed Hanzo to lay in his lap with a little more force than necessary, he didn’t exactly know his own strength. “Doesn’t mean I won’t try to change it.” 

Hanzo landed with a small wheeze, “Christ, Jesse, you stink!” he snapped, “When’s the last time you’ve taken a shower?” 

The response was the poncho being pushed over his face, which didn’t really do anything but provide more evidence for Hanzo’s point. 

“Hush up and rest will you, I’m trying to be romantic.” 

“Since when is manhandling considered romantic?” 

This time the hat was pushed on his face with a very loud shush noise. He rolled his eyes, getting as comfortable as one could crammed on a windowsill about a story up with another person. 

“Fine, fine, I’m sleeping, see?” he grumbled, McCree wasn’t the most comfortable pillow with all of his armor on, but for once he didn’t want to raise any complaints. 

They sat there like this for about three minutes, silent besides their breathing.

“...Do you want to go inside and continue this.” McCree said finally.

“God I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
